


Home But Not So Alone

by ahyperactivehero (ahyperactiverhero)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Burglary, Early Days, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, could be peterick or gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6847678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahyperactiverhero/pseuds/ahyperactivehero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick thinks that he's going to get to spend his afternoon with the apartment to himself for once. Too bad a burglar has other plans for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is some minor violence in this story, but it's not super graphic. Warning though, this fic does deal with someone breaking in and attacking the people who live there. I do not recommend reading it if this might upset you.

For once in Patrick's life, he was home alone in the apartment. After moving out of his childhood home and into an apartment with his band mates he swore that he never had any time to himself anymore. Between Pete and Joe, who actually lived there, Andy, who didn't “officially” live there, and the particularly odd instance of Pete's friend, who lived in Pete's closet, the place was always full.

Now that it was actually empty Patrick wondered what it was he should do. The first thing he wanted to do was sleep, as that was usually something that was nearly impossible for him to do with that many people around, but that felt like he was wasting his time.

He sighed as he hung up his jacket and tossed his keys into the bowl someone had set on the table near the door. Maybe he would grab something to eat before having a proper nap? Then he'd be free to do whatever else he wanted to do before everyone else got back home.

As he headed towards the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat from the meager food supplies that they had, a familiar scent caught his attention. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the apartment, warning him that he might not actually be alone.

Patrick just barely held back a groan. “Joe!” Patrick yelled. “I swear, if you're smoking in here... You know what that does to my asthma.” He marched towards where the smell was coming from, faintly wondering why it wasn't coming from Joe's room. Not that Joe was supposed to be home anyways, it was still just odd.

“Joe! Are you even listening to-” Patrick shoved open Pete's bedroom door and saw a man who was definitely not Pete or Joe standing there.

The man standing in the middle of Pete's room didn't really fit the description of any of their friends. He was a taller, heavier set man wearing a ski mask over his face and dark clothes. A cigarette was held between his fingers, still up against his mouth. Through the tiny eye holes Patrick could see the man's eyes widening.

“You weren't supposed to be here,” the man said.

And that was all he got out before Patrick took off running, planning on escaping through the front door and down to the bar below. The owner downstairs was always kind to them and would definitely let Patrick in to escape from the burglar. 

Footsteps resounded behind him, banging against the hallway floor. They were heavy yet quick, much quicker than Patrick's lighter ones.

He had almost reached the door when the burglar's body slammed into his, and he met the ground with a thud. He tried to sit up, but the man shoved him back down and scrambled to sit on top of him.

Patrick slapped at the man's hands as he was forced to roll over onto his back, but it did little good. The man pinned Patrick's hands together above his head, slamming them down against the floor.

“Where's the money?” the man asked.

Confusion shone through the fear on Patrick's face. “Money?” he asked him.

The man let go of Patrick's hands and grabbed the front of his shirt. He easily lifted him up into a sitting position and slammed him back onto the ground. Patrick's hands, which had instantly went to grab onto the man's hands, hoping to shove them away, dropped to the side the second his head connected with the floor.

“Don't play dumb with me,” the man growled. “I know you've got it hidden around here somewhere.”

Patrick tried to think of what money the man could be talking about over the ringing in his ears. While their families weren't exactly hurting for money, none of the guys living in the apartment were exactly rolling in cash. Any money any of them had went towards rent, food, or gear for the band. It was highly unlikely that any of them had money worth breaking in for lying around. 

“Really, I swear we don't have any money,” Patrick begged. Aside from some of the vinyls Patrick had or maybe the old transformers Pete had displayed on the shelves in his room, there really wasn't even anything worth stealing that Patrick could truly think of.

The man lifted him up twice more and slammed him down. Bursts of color exploded in Patrick's head, making it nearly impossible to understand or hear or focus on what the man above him was saying.

“Don't lie to me, I know it's in here,” the man said.

Patrick didn't even attempt to answer. Instead, he groaned, hoping to relieve some of the pressure that was building behind his eyes.

“Shut up,” the man said, annoyance in his voice. He climbed off of Patrick and moved away from him. Through bleary eyes Patrick saw the man moving over to a backpack he's failed to notice when he'd walked in.

A vibrating noise captured Patrick's attention.

Slowly, he turned his head towards the noise. He spotted his cell phone lying a few feet away. Some time during the struggle it must have slid away from him and underneath the table beside the door.

He'd honestly forgotten all about his cell phone. He hadn't even had it for that long. In fact, the only reason why he had even gotten one was because his mom and Pete had insisted on it.

 _'If you're going to be going on tour then you'll need a cell phone so we can keep in touch,'_ his mom had said.

 _'We need to be able to find our little Trick,'_ Pete had said. _'Wouldn't want anyone walking away with you.'_

It had been annoying at the time, but now Patrick was thankful for it.

He glanced towards the man, who still had his back towards him, and made the decision to roll towards his phone.

His hand gripped his phone a second later. He suppressed a whimper of pain as he shifted perspective and checked who was calling.

 _Pete,_ his screen read. He reached over, hoping to flip it open and tell Pete what had happened. He knew that if he told Pete what was happening then he would make sure to tell the cops and everything would be taken care of.

“What are you doing?” the man asked. A second later the phone was snatched from Patrick's fingers, a look of rage covering the man's face.

He looked at the screen before shoving the phone in Patrick's face. “You make a move like that again and I'll kill you and this Pete guy,” he threatened.

His phone started to vibrate again, signaling another call from Pete, which caused the man to throw his phone across the room. Patrick squeaked as the plastic smacked into the wall and broke, ending whatever hope he had had of ever using it to call for help.

The man yanked Patrick up into a semi-sitting position and forced his hands behind his back. There was a biting pain as the man snapped what Patrick could only assume were zip ties onto his wrists. The sound of duct tape ripping came into his ears and a moment later it was slapped over his mouth. He sat there, with the room spinning, until the man slammed his face back into the ground.

Blood dripped from Patrick's nose as he laid in the floor, trying to focus on which direction was up. He flinched when he felt the man's hands grab him and dragged him away from the front door, deeper into the apartment. He groaned through the duct tape as he was dropped to the floor beside the couch.

The man ignored him. Instead, he chose to continue doing what he had been doing before Patrick had interrupted him. Over the sound of Patrick's own labored breathing he could hear the man going through their belongings, tossing things that he deemed “unimportant” around where ever he pleased.

Patrick wasn't sure how long he laid there, listening to his attacker break or toss or examine their things before he finally heard a different noise.

The sound of a key turning in the door was distinctly heard as were the impatient steps of his best friend.

“Yo, Patrick! You here?” Pete's voice filtered into Patrick's foggy brain.

 _'Shit,'_ Patrick thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Pete tried calling his best friend again, only for it to go straight to voicemail.

“Hey, Patrick, I finished up with my mom early and just thought I'd see if you wanted to go and grab a bite to eat,” Pete said.

He hung up the phone and decided to just go straight to the apartment to ask Patrick. Knowing him, he had probably put his phone on silent and left it somewhere. It wouldn't be the first time his friend had nearly gave him a heart attack because he wasn't answering his phone. It seemed that in the short amount of time since getting his phone he had become determined to kill Pete.

Soon he was bouncing up the stairs to their apartment, the thought of food overriding his worry. After his second call all of his calls had went to voicemail, which meant that Patrick was probably ignoring him. He was probably sleeping or something and would likely kick Pete's ass for waking him up.

He unlocked the door, calling out to his friend anyway as he did so. “Yo, Patrick. You here?” he asked.

Patrick didn't respond, but Pete noticed that his jacket and keys were both there were they belonged. Maybe he really was asleep after all?

“Patrick?” Pete called again. He tossed his own set of keys into the bowl and hung up his own jacket next to Patrick's. He stepped forward, ready to go and see if Patrick was in his room, when he noticed something that nearly stopped his heart.

Laying in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a small pool of blood, was Patrick's beanie. The same gray beanie that Pete had gave to him a couple of months ago.

As if seeing it on the floor with no Patrick in sight wasn't frightening enough, the blood surrounding it was. It looked as if someone had dragged something, or someone, through it and into the living room.

Pete's heart was basically in his throat as he began to follow the trail. He also couldn't help but notice that a black mess of plastic was up against the wall, a mess that he noted looked an awful lot like a cell phone. Patrick's cell phone.

While it really wasn't unusual for Patrick to get mad and throw things, it was pretty odd for him to throw something so important or something so expensive. That combined with everything else made Pete want to back out and call 911.

But he didn't. He couldn't just leave Patrick there by himself. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he left and something worse happened to his friend.

“Patrick,” Pete whispered into the living room.

“Mmph!” a sound replied.

As Pete stepped into the living room he quickly noticed where the sound had been coming from. And where the trail of blood led.

Laying on his side with his hands forced behind him was Patrick. Blood crusted duct tape was placed over his mouth, preventing him from speaking. His nose was clotted with blood and from what Pete could see, so was the back of his head. His reddish-blonde hair was spiked up from the loss of his hat and the drag across the floor.

Patrick's eyes were wide as he stared at his best friend. The second he saw him, he started to squirm, trying to get his legs underneath him.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Pete repeated over and over, running towards his friend. His fingers slipped in Patrick's blood as he tried to gently remove the duct tape from his mouth.

As soon as the tape was taken off, he took several deep breaths, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern. He coughed, spitting out blood that had dripped from his nose into his mouth.

“What happened?” Pete asked.

“Run,” Patrick said at the same time.

Pete's brows scrunched up as he too in his friend. “Run? No, no without you, come on,” he said. He pulled Patrick into a sitting position, hoping that he would be able to better reach whatever was tying Patrick's hands together.

Patrick whined and his eyed rolled back. His body went limp against Pete as he pushed his face into Pete's hoodie. Blood spread across it, blending in with the already red hoodie.

“Stop, please,” Patrick said quietly. “I'm gonna be sick.”

Pete opened up his mouth, whether to offer reassurance or to ask what had happened again even Pete wasn't sure.

Unfortunately, he never got a chance to do either one of those things. Before he knew what was happening, he was yanked away from his friend by someone, kicking and screaming the whole time.

“Let me go!” Pete yelled. He swung his arm backwards, managing to catch whoever it was in the gut. The arms around Pete suddenly disappeared, dropping him to the ground.

Quickly, Pete spun around. He put his arms up, ready to fight whoever it was that had broken in and attacked his friend.

A man was standing there, holding his stomach in pain. Once he noticed that Pete was looking at him, he tackled him. He used his larger stature to pin Pete down, taking a few hits in the meantime.

Patrick yelled for his friend. He hoped that someone might hear him and at least come and see what was going on.

“Shut up!” the man yelled at Patrick. “I told you, if I heard another word from you that I would kill you.”

Patrick stopped, but only because of the threat he remembered the man making towards Pete. He refused to be the reason why his best friend died.

Pete growled when he heard Patrick's cut off sounding sob. Who the hell did this man think he was, yelling at his friend when he was the one breaking in.

Despite the fact that he practically lived in mosh pits and other wild scenes like that, Pete wasn't a great fighter. He could definitely hold his own in most fights, but being attacked unexpectedly in his own home gave his attacker an unfair advantage.

“Leave him alone,” Pete said. He punched up and caught the man in the eye.

Both of the man's hands went to his eyes as he howled in pain. Pete pushed his advantage, knocking the man over and onto his back.

He punched him a few more times in the face yet the man refused to give up. Somehow, he managed to grab one of Pete's wrists and bend it backwards. Pete hissed in pain and recoiled away from his attacker. This gave the man exactly what he wanted: an opening.

The man shoved Pete backwards and pointed over to Patrick.

“Listen,” the man yelled. “I'll kill the kid if you don't sit down and let me tie you up.”

Pete looked over at Patrick. Again he took in his wide eyes and bloodied form. There was no way he could ever be the cause of Patrick's death. Yet, if he didn't fight they both might die.

Patrick shook his head, easily letting Pete know what he thought of that plan. He was sure that if Pete let himself be tied up too then neither one of them would get out of this.

Pete acknowledged what Patrick was trying to say, but he ignored him anyway. He lifted both of his wrists in front of him in a form of surrender. 

The man nodded. He reached behind him into his pocket and pulled out a few more zip ties. Soon Pete's wrists were forced behind him and tied together, as were his ankles.

He was left laying on the floor while the man stepped over to his backpack. A roll of duct tape was pulled out, the last of the roll easily tearing away from the cardboard.

The man glanced between Pete and Patrick, a look of indecision on his face. There wasn't enough duct tape for both of them, and he was clearly struggling with his options.

Eventually he moved towards Patrick. Pete lunged towards the man's ankles, trying to stop him, but I was too late. Patrick was pulled up by his hair again, and the tape was pressed against his mouth.

The burglar looked towards Pete. “I've already asked him where the money is. You can see how well that went.” He gestured down at Patrick, who was wheezing through his swollen nose, and then pointed at Pete. “I expect you to cooperate better.”

Pete was confused but nodded. Whatever got this freak out of their apartment fastest sounded good to him.

“Good.” The man aimed a kick towards Patrick's middle before walking away and over to Pete.

Pete, not being able to do much, glared. Silently, he promised to kick the man's ass the second he could have a shot at a fair fight.

“Where is the money?” he asked.

“What money?” Pete asked.

Their attacker looked to be a second away from exploding. “The money Derrick owes me.”

Again, confusion was present on Pete's face. “Who?” 

The man pulled on his mask, a mock-show of pulling his hair out. “Derrick! The guy who lives here! Owes me about two grand!”

“No one named Derrick lives here!” Pete shouted. “Come on, dude, we live off of pizza rolls, you really think that we've got two grand in our apartment?”

He stared down at Pete studying him. It was obvious to him that the man was trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He looked over at Patrick, who was shifting between wide-eyed and on the verge of passing out.

“Shit,” the man said. “Well, I guess that explains why there are so many kids in here.” Again he looked back and forth between the two people he now had tied up on the floor.

“Well,” he said. “I'm sure you guys have something worth taking around here.”

He disappeared back into one of the bedrooms. It was Patrick's from the sound of it. 

Pete looked over to his friend. “We're going to be okay, alright Trick?” he asked him. He hoped his voice was more reassuring to Patrick than it sounded in his own ears.

Patrick didn't even seem to hear him. His eyes were glazed and sort of distant. Occasionally, when their attacker made a particularly loud noise in the next room, he would jump and his eyes would shoot towards Pete. It was as if he was making certain that he was still there.

“Patrick?” Pete asked. He tried to gain his friend's attention, noticing the odd way he was breathing. Breathing through a bloody nose was hard enough, he definitely didn't need the stress of a robbery and the duct tape to make it anymore difficult. “Hey, just breath okay? Like I said, we're going to be fine.”

He wanted to continue telling Patrick that everything would be fine, and then work on making sure that it really would be, but the robber reappeared. He was carrying a guitar of Patrick's, holding it between his hands and inspecting it. “I'm sure this will sell nicely.”

Patrick's eyes snapped into focus, and his face clearly expressed how pissed he was. The man laughed at his expression. It was obvious that he didn't fear the young singer.

Patrick kicked out at him, using the only thing he had left at his disposal. His foot actually collided with the man's ankle, causing the man to drop Patrick's guitar to the floor.

The man yelped from the pain and then glared at Patrick. Pete cursed and tried to wiggle his way over to Patrick, as if he would be able to do something to protect his friend from his attacker.

“That's it,” the man said. He roughly seized Patrick's ankles, who still attempted to kick at his attacker, and dragged him into Joe's room.

Pete tried to yell, to stop the man from taking his friend from him, but it didn't work. There was a scuffle for a few seconds, followed by silence, and then the sounds of the man grabbing even more of their belongings.

“What did you do to him?!” Pete asked. He thrashed on the floor, trying to get his bound legs underneath him, but it was useless and got him nowhere. “Patrick!” he yelled. Fear seized him for the hundredth time that afternoon when his friend failed to answer him.

“Shut the hell up,” the man yelled, kicking Pete in the stomach. The air was knocked out of him, which seemed to amuse the man. He had a guitar of Patrick's, Joe's, and Pete's in his hands or strapped to his back. It seemed he really had found something worth taking.

He gave Pete one last kick to the stomach before heading out the door, not even bothering to properly close it on his way out. Pete laid there for a minute, making sure he really was gone, at least for the moment. Then he began trying to wiggle towards Joe's room, where he had last seen his friend being taken.

He must have been struggling to move across the floor for at least five minutes before he heard the sound of two sets of feet coming up the stairs. His attempts to reach Patrick increased, the fear that the man had brought a friend with him giving him the strength he needed to help haul himself a couple of feet.

“Patrick? Pete? Anyone in here?” Joe's voice called out through the open door.

Pete could have fainted from relief. “In here! Hurry!” Pete yelled. He'd never been happier to hear the voice of the youngest band member than he was in that moment.

A second later Joe appeared with Andy merely a step behind him. The two of them ran to Pete's side, asking questions and trying to pry the zip ties from Pete's arms and legs.

“No,” Pete practically yelled. He fought against his friend's assistance and nodded towards Joe's room. “Go and check on Patrick! Hurry! Go!” he begged, his voice cracking.

Joe and Andy shared a look before Joe got up and headed towards his room. Pete was still struggling, cutting his wrists against the zip ties.

Andy placed his hands over Pete's, stilling their movements. “I got this,” he said. He pulled out a pocket knife and began to saw through the zip ties.

He was halfway through the ones around Pete's wrists when Joe ran through the living room and into the kitchen. Andy barely glanced up from his actions, knowing Pete wouldn't take it too well if he stopped.

“Is he alright?” Pete asked. “Joe!” he yelled when there was no response aside from the rustling of items in the junk drawer. 

Joe walked back through, avoiding Pete's gaze. In his hands were a pair of scissors and a kitchen towel. 

He looked at And and said, “Hurry. I might need help.”

Pete nearly sliced open his own wrists on Andy's knife in an attempt to get him to go faster. Andy jerked backwards trying to prevent Pete from hurting himself.

“He might come back,” Pete said. “We need to get him out of here.”

Andy glanced at his friend. He'd known Pete for several years, even played in several different bands with him, but he'd never seen him so shaken before.

“What happened?” Andy asked softly. He didn't want to push Pete, but he did need to know what happened so he could help and know if there really was a chance that the person who had done this might come back.

“I don't know,” Pete said shakily. “I walked in and some guy had beat the crap out of Patrick and tied him up because he thought we had money stashed away or something.”

Andy snorted at the thought of his friends having any money. Pete seemed to agree.

“Yeah,” Pete said. “And when we explained that we didn't have any money he took our guitars.”

Andy shook his head. “Big mistake there,” he said. No one was ever allowed to touch Patrick's guitars. Ever.

He finished up cutting away the ones around Pete's wrists and moved onto the ones on his ankles. “Yeah. Patrick got mad.” His voice dropped rather low. “He kicked the guy and then he was dragged off and now I just want to see him.”

Andy's heart broke as he listened to his friend. He sawed faster, understanding now exactly how important it was for Pete to see his friend. And if he was more than a bit worried about the singer, well then that was just a bonus.

“There,” he said the second he was through. Pete jumped up, intending to run to his best friend's side, but the kicks to his stomach caught up with him.

Tattooed arms were around him before he could hit the ground, and Andy started to help him towards Joe's room. 

When they got there Pete nearly fell anyways. Joe was sitting next to Patrick, holding a towel to the back of his head. Blood was already soaking through the material, turning Pete's stomach.

“He's not waking up,” Joe said. “We should call an ambulance.”

Andy nodded, helping Pete down next to Patrick and Joe. “I'll be back,” he said, heading off to call an ambulance. He knew Pete wasn't feeling up to it, even though he was the one that knew the most about what had happened, and Joe had already planted himself by Patrick's side, making it clear he wasn't leaving him anytime soon.

Joe looked at Pete, who had a hand wrapped around his middle. “Are you okay?”

Pete nodded numbly. “Yeah, I'm fine.” His eyes never once left Patrick. “Is he okay, though?”

Joe didn't want to lie to Pete, but he also didn't want to think about anything happening to his friend. “He was having trouble breathing when I came in. Probably from his busted nose and the damn tape on his mouth,” he said. His anger easily showed through his tone. “Who the hell did this?” Joe asked.

“Some guy broke in,” Pete said, not wanting to go into it.

Joe sensed this, but it didn't stop his anger. He balled up his fists in the towel, his whole body tensing at what had been done to his friends.

A groan, followed by a painful sounding set of coughs escaped their friend lying in between them. In less than a heart beat, Pete was leaning over his friend and whispering his name.

“Pete? Joe?” Patrick asked. He squinted his eyes as if he wasn't entirely sure he was really seeing them.

“Yeah, we're here, we're here,” Pete said. He grabbed onto Patrick's hand and tapped it, in his own way reassuring his friend they were there.

“Andy's calling an ambulance, just stay there,” Joe said.

Patrick closed his eyes. “I wasn't planning on going anywhere.”

Panic came over Pete. “Hey, buddy, you need to stay awake, okay Trick? C'mon, open your eyes.”

“I couldn't sleep if I wanted to,” Patrick said. “My head feels like it's been split by an ax.”

Joe shifted his hands that were wrapped up in the towel underneath Patrick's head. “Hate to tell you this, but your head kind of looks like it.”

A tiny smile came onto Patrick's face. “Thanks, Joe. That's helpful.”

Patrick swallowed thickly, grimacing as he did so. Pete's eyes landed on his neck, noticing something that made him even angrier.

“Are those bruises on your neck?” Pete asked. Patrick closed his eyes again, bringing his hand up to his neck.

“He did that after he dragged me in here,” Patrick said quietly. “My punishment for kicking him.”

Pete actually was going to be sick now. It was apparent to him now that the man really had been serious about killing them. Hell, who knew what would have happened to Patrick had Joe or Andy not shown up when they had. He could have died in Joe's room all alone, while Pete struggled to get to him.

“Hey, you okay?” Joe asked Pete. He moved one of his hands away from Patrick's head and placed it on Pete's arm. “Snap back, man.”

Pete shook his head and brushed Joe's hand off. Without even being aware of it, he dropped Patrick's hand and leaned away from his friends.

“Andy!” Joe yelled. Half a second later Andy was there, standing in Joe's doorway. He took one look at Pete's shaking hands and tossed his phone onto Joe's bed, not even bothering to hang up or explain what was happening.

“C'mon, Pete,” Andy said. Pete resisted being removed from Patrick, but his legs were shaking too bad for him to properly fight.

“But-” he began to argue, but Andy shushed him.

“We're just going to get some fresh air and wait for the ambulance and the cops, okay? You'll be able to tell them what happened so they can take care of Trick,” Andy said.

He led him out of the apartment and towards the stairs, where he sat down alongside him. He watched as Pete became aware of the bloody hand print Joe had left behind and the bloody face print Patrick had left earlier and tried to scratch them off.

“Hey, no,” Andy said. He pulled Pete's anxious hands away to sit in his lap. He wished he had thought to grab something from Pete's room like one of his old toys he kept out on the shelves or something to keep his hands busy. Especially since his guitar was stolen, which was usually the answer to his anxious hands.

Thankfully, it wasn't too much longer to wait for the ambulance or the police. After they arrived it was a whirlwind of activity and noise, which helped to further shut Pete down, that ended with a trip to the hospital.

Pete was let off with a couple of bruised ribs and an order to rest. Patrick was a little less lucky.

“So a concussion, huh?” Pete asked as he walked into Patrick's room. The young man was sitting up, currently flipping through TV stations on the muted TV. “So when can you go free?” he asked.

Patrick sighed, dropping the remote onto his lap. “Hopefully tomorrow morning. They said that after someone passes out from,” he gestured towards his neck, “and they've got a head injury they like to at least keep them overnight.”

Pete nodded his head. The anger towards their attacker was still there, especially now that he could see Patrick all bandaged up in the light of the hospital.

“Joe and Andy are speaking to the police,” he said, for lack of anything better to say. “They think that they caught the guy trying to pawn our guitars at a pawn shop down the street, but we won't be able to confirm it until tomorrow when you're free.”

Patrick nodded. His eyes looked back towards the TV, not saying anything. It made Pete feel terrible. His best friend had been attacked and there had been nothing that he could do about it. He scuffed his shoe against the hospital floor, hating the squeak that it caused yet unable to stop. He looked up towards the TV and smiled when he saw what Patrick had landed on.

“Really, dude? This is Hallmark. The channel you banned me from watching,” he teased.

Patrick squinted at the TV. “I don't have my glasses so I really can't see what the screen is showing, much less read it. Not that my brain is exactly keen on letting me read anything right now anyways.” He rubbed his eyeballs, trying to relieve some of the pressure from them.

Pete looked at his friend with worry before an idea came to him. He climbed into bed beside Patrick, wrapping around him like a security blanket. 

_“But I love you, Cassie!”_

_“I don't care, Matt! It's too late.”_

_“It's never too late for love.”_

“Uh, Pete? What are you doing?” Patrick asked, leaning away to look at Pete.

“Shh, I'm reading to you. You're making me miss some crucial lines here,” Pete said. Then he launched back into his acting, butchering the females lines.

Patrick gazed at his friend for a moment, completely confused but also amazed. He laid his head down against Pete's chest and listened to his heart beat and felt the rumbling of his voice, a steady reassurance that his friend was still alive.

Patrick listened to Pete go on for a few minutes, slowly drifting off to sleep.

“You're an idiot,” he mumbled sleepily. 

“Careful,” Pete said. “That's exactly what Cassie said before they started having a heavy make out session.”

“Wow,” Patrick mumbled. “My brain is definitely not ready for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's done. My first chaptered work for the fandom, yay! Hope you guys enjoyed!


End file.
